Page 18 of Executive Privilege (Event Horizons Agency #1)

I spend Tuesday morning proving my innocence like a woman possessed.

I meet up with my counterpart at Hartwell who happened to go to the same university as me, and we spend hours digging through digital records, cross-referencing timelines, and following the trail of who had access to Hartwell Industries' campaign strategy.

By noon, we have a complete picture of how the information was leaked—and it has nothing to do with Event Horizons.

The leak came from inside Hartwell itself. A disgruntled marketing coordinator who had access to the strategy documents and gambling debts that made selling information to competitors an attractive option. The digital footprint is clear once you know where to look.

I compile everything into a comprehensive report and email it to Nicholas with the subject line: "Hartwell Investigation - Complete Analysis."

Then I wait.

And wait.

By 2 PM, there's no response. No acknowledgment, no thank you, no apology for suspecting me of industrial espionage. Nothing.

My phone rings at 2:15. Frankie.

"Sadie, where are you? Nicholas is asking for you."

"I'm working from home today. Personal day."

"He looks terrible. Worse than yesterday, if that's possible. And he's been staring at his computer screen for the past hour like it contains the secrets of the universe."

"He probably got my report on the Hartwell leak."

"You solved it?"

"The leak came from inside Hartwell. Their own employee sold strategy documents to competitors to pay off gambling debts. I sent Nicholas all the evidence this morning."

Frankie is quiet for a moment. "And he hasn't called you?"

"Nope."

"Sadie, what the hell happened between you two?"

I consider how to answer that. How do you explain that you fell in love with someone so damaged by past betrayal that he'd rather destroy his present than risk being hurt again?

"He's not ready for what I was offering," I say finally.

"And what were you offering?"

"Everything."

After we hang up, I sit in my apartment staring at my phone and waiting for some sign that solving Nicholas's crisis has changed anything between us. That proving my innocence has made him realize how badly he misjudged me. That saving his client relationship has shown him I'm not the enemy.

At 5 PM, my phone finally buzzes with a text from Nicholas: "Thank you for the Hartwell analysis. Very thorough."

That's it. "Very thorough." Like I'm a contractor who delivered a satisfactory report, not someone who spent twelve hours saving his business after he accused me of sabotage.

I type and delete a dozen responses before settling on: "You're welcome."

He doesn't reply.

At 6 PM, I get a call from Diego.

"Sadie, I'm worried about Nicholas. He came by the studio again today, looked like he'd been hit by a truck."

"I tried, Diego, I really did. He's not speaking to me."

Diego is quiet for a long moment. "That man is an idiot."

After Diego hangs up, I pour myself a large glass of wine and sit on my couch trying to figure out what happens next. I proved my innocence, saved Nicholas's client relationship, and demonstrated exactly the kind of loyalty and competence he claims to value.

His response was a two-sentence text message.

My phone buzzes with another call. Emma.

"Please tell me you have good news," she says.

"I solved Nicholas's business crisis and proved I had nothing to do with industrial espionage."

"That's great! So he apologized and realized he was being an idiot?"

"He sent me a text saying 'thank you for the thorough analysis.'"

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Emma is quiet for a long moment. "Sadie, I think it's time to consider the possibility that Nicholas Blackwood is never going to be emotionally available. I'm sorry I pushed you into thinking it might be possible."

"I'm going to accept that some people are too broken to be fixed by love alone. And I'm going to stop trying to save someone who doesn't want to be saved."

"Does that mean you're done fighting for him?"

I think about Nicholas sitting in his office, staring at evidence that I'm exactly who I claimed to be—someone who cares enough about his success to spend my personal time solving his professional crisis.

I think about him choosing to respond with polite distance instead of acknowledgment or apology.

"Yeah," I say finally. "I think I'm done."

But even as I say it, I know it's not entirely true. You don't stop loving someone just because they're incapable of loving you back. You don't stop caring about their wellbeing just because they've made it clear they don't want your care.

You just stop expecting them to change.

Wednesday morning, I return to Event Horizons with a plan. Professional distance, polite competence, and the kind of emotional boundaries that protect your heart from further damage. The irony that his tactics have now become my own is not lost on me.

Nicholas is already in his office when I arrive.

"Sadie!" Angie bounces over to my desk with her usual morning enthusiasm. "How was your day off yesterday? You missed all the drama."

"What drama?"

"Nicholas was a complete wreck all day. Frankie said he looked like he hadn't slept in a week, and he kept staring at his computer like it was going to explode.

Then around lunch, something changed. He spent the rest of the day on calls with Hartwell, and by evening, he seemed.

.. I don't know, relieved? But also somehow worse. "

"Worse how?"

"Like someone who'd gotten good news that didn't make him happy. Does that make sense?"

Unfortunately, it makes perfect sense. Nicholas got proof that I'm not the enemy, which solved his professional crisis but highlighted his personal one. Now he knows he pushed away someone who genuinely cared about him because he was too damaged to trust his own judgment about people.

"It makes sense," I say. "Some problems are easier to solve than others."

My computer chimes with a new email from Nicholas:

"Team meeting in Conference Room A at 10 AM. Morrison campaign debrief and Q4 planning."

Professional. Distant. Like nothing happened between us, I tell myself. I can do this.

The team meeting is a masterclass in professional awkwardness. Nicholas runs through the Morrison campaign results—client satisfaction, successful content delivery, potential for future business—while I take notes and contribute when directly asked.

We don't make eye contact. We don't reference our trip to Dallas. We certainly don't mention cabin sex.

We act like colleagues who have worked together on a successful project and are now moving on to the next assignment.

It's excruciating.

"Excellent work, everyone, on the Morrison campaign," Nicholas says as the meeting winds down. "The client relationship is strong, and the campaign is already exceeding all performance metrics."

General murmurs of satisfaction from the team. I keep my expression neutral and professional.

"Looking ahead to Q4, we have several exciting opportunities," Nicholas continues. "I'll be meeting with potential clients individually to discuss assignments and strategic direction."

After the meeting, I return to my desk and dive into routine work—social media calendars, content planning, the kind of busy work that keeps your mind occupied and your heart safely distracted.

Frankie appears beside my desk with coffee and a concerned expression, her graceful hands perfectly manicured as she sets down the cup.

"Okay, I have to ask. What's going on between you and Nicholas?"

"Nothing's going on. We're colleagues working on professional projects."

"Bullshit. Yesterday he looked like someone had died, and today you're both acting like polite strangers who happened to work on the same campaign."

"Maybe because that's what we are."

"That's definitely not what you are. I've seen the way you two look at each other, the chemistry during meetings, the way he lights up when you challenge his ideas."

"You're seeing things that aren't there."

"Am I? Because I've never seen Nicholas respond to anyone the way he responds to you. I've never seen him bring anyone coffee or get genuinely excited about collaborative work."

The words hurt because they're true. Nicholas did all those things. He also accused me of lying when his trust issues got triggered.

"People are complicated, Frankie. Sometimes what looks like caring is just professional appreciation."

My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number: "This is Victoria Sterling. We need to talk."

My blood turns to ice. Victoria Sterling. The woman who hurt Nicholas so badly he can't trust anyone who gets close to him. The reason he lives in a hotel and builds walls around his personal life.

And she wants to talk to me.

My hands shake as I type back: "How did you get this number?"

"That's not important. What's important is that I know you're involved with Nicholas Blackwood, and there are things you need to understand about him before you get in too deep."

"I'm not interested in anything you have to say."

"You should be. Because Nicholas Blackwood isn't the man you think he is, and if you're not careful, he'll destroy your career just like he destroyed mine."

I stare at the message, my heart racing. This is exactly what Nicholas fears—his past coming back to reality. Victoria Sterling reaching out to me is going to confirm every paranoid suspicion he's had about trust and betrayal.

But it's also an opportunity. A chance to understand what really happened between them, what shaped Nicholas into someone so afraid of emotional vulnerability.

A chance to finally understand the woman who broke him.

"When and where?" I text back.

"Coffee shop on Sixth Street. Corner of Sixth and Lamar. One hour."

"How will I recognize you?"

"You won't need to. I'll recognize you."

I put my phone away and stare at my computer screen, trying to process what just happened.

In one hour, I'm going to meet the woman who destroyed Nicholas Blackwood's ability to trust. The woman who might hold the key to understanding why the man I love would rather be alone than risk being hurt again.

This is either the best idea I've ever had, or it's going to destroy whatever small chance Nicholas and I might have had at finding our way back to each other.

But I have to know. I have to understand what I'm really up against.

And maybe, just maybe, I'll learn something that can help both of us heal from the damage she left behind.